oh rome! – rome – chris' walking project

Three poems, or excerpts of poems, about Rome’s glorious past.

Oh, Rome — a proud land of lechery, of evil,

It’ll come the trial’s day — a hammer and an anvil.

I see the end of your ‘eternal’ reign:

Your crown, in the dust, will never rise again.

The youthful nations — suns of bloody battle –

Will raise the sword above your people-cattle,

Just leaving after them the mountains and seas,

And flooding all your land as waters of the streams.

The Rome will fall; it will be covered by a darkness;

And, just a traveler, while seeing stones’ vastness,

And lost in gloomy thoughts, at last will give a yell:

“By freedom Rome’s bred, by slavery it’s felled.”

by Aleksander Pushkin

……..

Then none was for a party;

Then all were for the state;

Then the great man helped the poor,

And the poor man loved the great:

Then lands were fairly portioned;

Then spoils were fairly sold:

The Romans were like brothers

In the brave days of old.

from “Horatius” by Thomas Babbington Macaulay

…..

LXXVIII
Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O’er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!
Whose agonies are evils of day —
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.

LXXIX
The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither’d hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter’d long ago;
The Scipios’ tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,
Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

From “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”, Canto the Fourth, by Lord Byron